specimen of humanity, who stood near the speaker, slapping Judge
Lyman on the shoulder familiarly as he spoke. "There's no telling
what they will do. There's (hic) my old uncle Josh Wilson, who's
been keeper of the Poor-house these ten years. Well, they're going
to turn him out, if ever they get the upper hand in Bolton
county."

"If? That word involves a great deal, Harry!" said Lyman. "We
mus'n't let them get the upper hand. Every man has a duty to
perform to his country in this matter, and every one must do his
duty. But what have they got against your Uncle Joshua? What has
he been doing to offend this righteous party?"

"They've nothing against him, (hic) I believe. Only, they say,
they're not going to have a Poor-house in the county at all."

"What! Going to turn the poor wretches out to starve?" said one.

"Oh no! (hic)," and the fellow grinned, half shrewdly and half
maliciously, as he answered--"no, not that. But, when they carry
the day, there'll be no need of Poor-houses. At least, that's
their talk--and I guess maybe there's something in it, for I never
knew a man to go to the Poor-house, who hadn't (hic) rum to blame
for his poverty. But, you see, I'm interested in this matter. I go
for keeping up the Poor-house (hic); for I guess I'm travelling
that road, and I shouldn't like to get to the last milestone (hic)
and find no snug quarters--no Uncle Josh. You're safe for one
vote, any how, old chap, on next election day!" And the man's
broad hand slapped the member's shoulder again. "Huzza for the
rummies! That's (hic) the ticket! Harry Grimes never deserts his